


One Night Only

by Gaffsie



Series: Nights [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betty Cooper Has No Chill, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Boarding School, Cuckolding, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Cheating, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Season/Series 04, Seduction, Size Kink, Sleuthing kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22832683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/pseuds/Gaffsie
Summary: Betty and Jughead hatch a plan for him to distract Bret while she confronts Donna.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Bret Weston Wallis/Jughead Jones
Series: Nights [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252397
Comments: 18
Kudos: 131
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	One Night Only

“Okay,” Betty says, determined and fierce. “We can still salvage this.”

“How?” Jughead asks, slumping down further on the bed. “I was basically expelled, remember?”

Abruptly, Betty stops her agitated pacing. At this moment, she reminds Jughead strongly of Hot Dog when he's caught the scent of a squirrel, practically quivering with eager anticipation and ready to pounce.

It's enough for him to sit up straighter, all attention on his brilliant girlfriend.

“You still need to pick up the last of your stuff,” she says, sounding thoughtful, “and if you could just keep Bret occupied for a while, I'm pretty sure I can get Donna to confess.”

Jughead frowns.

“What about the rest of the coalition of evil?” he asks. As much as he'd like to get his revenge on the Stonewall Prep creeps that filmed him and Betty and stole his story, this seems awfully presumptuous of her.

She snorts, startlingly inelegant, and waves off his concern.

“Now that I know just what kind of psychoes we're dealing with, I can handle it,” she says.

She slinks over to him, straddling his lap and burying her hands in the hair at his neck the way she _knows_ he's weak to, and, just like that, Jughead knows that he'll go along with whatever plan she has concocted, no matter how risky. She likes him reckless, after all.

His hands goes to her waist on pure instinct by now, her angora sweater pleasantly soft and fuzzy against his fingers.

“How do you suggest I distract Bret?” Jughead asks. “I don't think he'll agree to a second fistfight in two days.”

Betty smirks, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I have a theory,” she murmurs, scratching lightly at his scalp, and forget reminding him of Hot Dog; she's all graceful jungle-cat, Jughead decides, a predator hiding behind her sleek veneer.

“Yeah?” he says, a little breathless; putty in her hands like always.

“I'm pretty sure Bret has a sad little school-boy crush on you,” she says, “and I think you could use that against him.”

Jughead has to admit that he's suspected that Bret is attracted to him as well. After all, there's only so many times you can catch a guy staring wistfully at you before you grow suspicious.

“How far do you want me to go?” he asks, a little excited despite himself. He and Betty have never involved anyone else in their little games, but they've talked about it, and having it wrapped up in the trill of the chase like this makes it even better.

“As far as you're comfortable with,” she says, smiling wickedly at him. “All I ask is that you tell me all the details later.”

“I love it when you're ruthless,” Jughead says, shaking his head in wonder.

Betty smiles at him, and then she leans down for a kiss, making both of them forget all about their plan for a while.

~*~

Jughead times his and Betty's trip to Stonewall so that they arrive just as Bret usually gets out from the gym.

He lets her in through the back door, kissing her on the forehead for luck, and then he surreptitiously goes back to the front.

The halls are basically deserted this time of the day, but the few people he does meet all look at him with a mixture of contempt and pity on their faces. Jughead just rolls his eyes and moves on, head held high. He's already spent the entirety of middle school being a social pariah, so he's immune to it by this point.

He still has his key, so he lets himself into what used to be his dorm room. He takes a moment to feel a little wistful about what could have been, but then he shakes off any lingering traces of fondness for the place and gets to work collecting his stuff.

He's practically done when he hears the lock click open, and he smiles to himself, pleased with his timing. He grabs one last book; Moose's unopened edition of _The Great Gatsby_ , complete with a cover-image from the movie, and pretends to study it as Bret enters the room.

He's fresh from the shower, only the white towel draped around his hips protecting his modesty.

Usually, the sight would make Jughead roll his eyes, because it's not like Bret can't afford a fucking bathrobe, but today he makes a point of raking his eyes over Bret's body, letting himself appreciate his broad and muscular frame the way he never usually does.

“Forsythe!” Bret exclaims, sounding almost pleased when he notices his presence.

Jughead raises his eyes from the tempting V that's disappearing into Bret's towel and meets Bret's surprised gaze, before, feigning embarrassment, he lets his eyes slip to the side, like he's been caught.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Bret standing up straighter, shoulders back like he's showing off. Such a pea-cock, Jughead thinks to himself.

“I see you've come to pick up your sad collection of trash,” Bret says, but it's just a route insult, lacking any real bite.

“Wouldn't want the stink of privilege to stick to them,” he says with a shrug, and, in a studied move, he reaches up for his beanie, pulling it off his hair and throwing it on the desk, hoping that he looks sufficiently frustrated.

He's doesn't know what's so special about his hair, but Betty had pretty much ordered him to take off his hat in front of Bret. “He'll love it,” she'd insisted, and it seems like she was right, because Bret is _staring_ at him now.

It makes Jughead feel powerful, and he revels in the feeling. It was the same way with Toni, he remembers, the way he almost feels drunk on being wanted.

He looks at Bret, eyes half-hidden behind his hair, and, a little ruefully, he says, “you're such an asshole.”

Bret smirks at him, taking a step closer.

“No need to be rude just because I turned out to be the better man in the end,” he says, pointedly staring at his Serpent jacket, and Jughead has to bite back a smile. Of course the over-privileged rich kid would get off on his gang affiliation.

“Yeah?” Jughead asks, and then he stalks over to Bret, gets right up in his face, only a scant few inches separating them. He has to tilt his face up to meet his gaze like this, and he finds it weirdly thrilling. Bret might not be able to fight worth a damn, but he's still a big guy.

“Because from where I'm standing, you just look like spoiled daddy's boy who's used to getting a free ride.” He smirks meanly at him, and he can see the moment Bret's self-control frays in the darkening of his eyes, and the way his mouth twists downward, a reaction trapped somewhere between rage and arousal, so he's not surprised when Bret reaches up and winds two large hands in the open collar of his leather jacket, practically snarling at him.

“Listen up, you little-” Bret starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Jughead grins up at him, a little crazed, and puts his hands on Bret's naked chest and _pushes_.

Surprised, and - if Betty is right about the crush – perhaps unwilling to harm him, Bret doesn't fight back, just passively allows Jughead to push him up against the nearest wall.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Jughead murmurs, his mouth so close to him that he can _feel_ the way it makes Bret's breath catch. He's still holding onto Jughead's collar, but there's no pressure there, nothing from stopping him from leaning up and crashing their mouths together.

It's rough, and it involves a lot more teeth than Jughead's used to, but it's surprisingly _hot_ , the feeling of Bret's naked body straining against his, sharp teeth nipping at his lips.

There's a growl, and he's not sure if it's coming from him or Bret, but it doesn't matter anyway, because now Bret's tongue is pushing into his mouth, insistent and agile, and it makes him moan, feeling the slick slide of it against his own tongue.

He can feel Bret's hard dick pushing insistently against his hip, even through the layers of fabrics, and he's half-hard himself.

Bret's hands are restless against him, moving over his shoulders and his chest, and then finally settling in his hair, burying his fingers in the messy waves with a content little sigh, and it's kinda weird, but Jughead is willing to go with it.

Jughead finally breaks the kiss, kissing Bret's chin messily before he sinks down on his knees, meeting Bret's astonished gaze and licking his lips just for the sheer pleasure of watching Bret blush.

He can see the outline of Bret's cock through the towel, and he puts his hands on Bret's hips, steadying himself, and then he leans in and traces it with his lips, looking up at Bret through lowered lashes, smiling at the awe-struck look on his face.

“Can I blow you?” he asks, voice soft, and he's laying it on a bit too thick right now, but it seems to be working. It makes him want to roll his eyes, the way Bret doesn't seem to find anything suspicious about Jughead suddenly begging for the privilege to suck his dick.

Bret just stares dumbly at him, mouth half-open and eyes wide, and now Jughead really does roll his eyes.

“Keep up,” he mutters, and reaches for the place where Bret's tucked his towel closed.

It's the work of a second, getting the towel to unravel and fall, and then Bret is completely naked, all of his hard body on display, and now it's Jughead's turn to stare like an idiot, because he's never been up close and personal with another guy's dick before, but he's pretty sure Bret's huge by anyone's standards. There is no way in hell he'll be able to fit all of it in his mouth, he thinks, biting his lip.

“And here I thought you were over-compensating for something,” he finally says, humor always something he can fall back on, and Bret actually chuckles weakly at that, his hands ruffling Jughead's hair a bit absently.

“Think you can handle it, Forsythe?” he challenges him, and Jughead scowls up at him.

“I can handle anything you throw at me,” he snaps, and taking a deep breath, he reaches out and wraps his hand around the base of Bret's dick, holding it in a soft but steady grip.

Bret's shaved, which he hadn't expected, but he's almost grateful for it; at least he won't end up with pubes stuck between his teeth. His dick is thick and veiny and curving up against his stomach; like something out of porn, but Jughead refuses to feel intimidated. His only practice with blowjobs might be the time in 8th grade when Archie dared him to deep-throat a Popsicle, but he's got this.

He chances a glance up at Bret, who's starting to look amused, and he can feel an embarrassed flush working its way up over his neck, so before he can change his mind, he leans in and puts his mouth over the pink head.

It tastes of clean salt and musk and, emboldened, he tries taking more into his mouth. It's wide enough to stretch his jaw, and he knows he'll probably be sore, after.

He closes his eyes and goes as deep as he dares, and then he backs off, lets the hard cock slip out of his mouth and slap wetly against his cheek. Above him, Bret groans, his hands tightening their grip on Jughead's hair.

Jughead nuzzles against Bret's balls, and licks his way up the velvety shaft again, tracings the veins, tongue darting into the slit to tease out a drop of precome. He moans a little at the taste, playing it up a little, and there's a 'thud' as Bret's head hits the wall.

“Fuck, Forsythe,” he mumbles, voice rough, and it makes him shiver a little, that Bret is so gone on him.

With renewed fervor, he sucks the cock-head into his mouth, tongue massaging the shaft, and then he bobs his head, taking more of it into his mouth.

There is no way in hell he's going to be able to deep-throat Bret, but what he can't reach with his mouth, his hand covers, and pretty soon he's got a rhythm going that seems to be working for him, Bret spurring him on with moans and mumbled endearments, his grip on his hair just on the right side of painful.

“I'm close,” Bret warns him, and, curious, Jughead opens his eyes, looking up at Bret's flushed face. It makes Bret moan, a shaky hand moving down to cup his puffed-out cheek, thumb rubbing at his moles.

“Forsythe,” Bret breathes, and then he's coming, his dick spasming and flooding Jughead's mouth with bitter come. Wide-eyed, Jughead tries to swallow it all, but some escapes his mouth, dribbling down his lips and chin.

“Holy fuck,” Bret pants, and then, “come here,” and then he _heaves_ , putting all those muscles to good use, and all of a sudden Jughead finds himself pulled up on his feet and pushed up against the wall, dizzy and kind of breathless and helplessly turned on.

“Forsythe,” Bret says, again, and Jughead has the fleeting thought that Bret really seems to like the sound of that name on his lips, and then he's kissing him messily, smearing the come between their chins and tasting himself in Jughead's mouth.

There are rough hands working on his belt, his fly, his shorts, and then Bret's got his hand wrapped around his dick, working him from root to tip as he kisses him, something desperate about it.

It feels like Jughead is just along for the ride now, clinging to wide shoulders and letting Bret kiss him as he works his dick expertly. His grip is almost too tight, but it's perfect, just as his mouth, aggressive and insistent against Jughead's.

Jughead moans, the sound swallowed by Bret; stolen, he thinks a little hysterically, like his story, and he's shaking with the need to come. He's half-afraid that Bret is going to make him beg for it, but Bret seems to want this as much as Jughead does, and with one last flick of Bret's wrist, Jughead can feel his orgasm sparking along his spine, tantalizingly close, and a moment later he's coming, the force of it taking him by surprise, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Bret breaks their kiss, but he doesn't pull away, his forehead leaning against Jughead's, bodies close, both of their breathing loud and panting in the quiet dorm.

There's a loud bang from somewhere down the hall, like a door slamming shut, and it's like it's the signal they both were waiting for, Bret finally pulling away from him, and Jughead straightening up, his hands falling from Bret's shoulders.

“I should go,” Jughead says, his voice wrecked, and Bret nods a little jerkily, his wide-eyed stare matching Jughead's own.

He feels terribly awkward, shuffling over to the desk to grab some tissues for a rudimentary clean-up, and it doesn't help that Bret keeps _looking_ at him, something complicated and painful in the way he seems to be cataloging him. He's still naked too, not making any move to cover himself up.

Jughead is quick to get dressed again, pulling his hat down over his ears, his cheeks flushed, Bret's gaze on him like a tangible weight.

He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder, eyes determinedly on the ground, and he almost makes it to the door before Bret speaks up.

“For what it's worth,” he says, sounding more like a human being and less than a caricature than he ever has before, “I'm sorry it had to end like this.”

Jughead's face jerks up, a frown on his face as he studies Bret. There's something naked about him right now that has nothing to do with his lack of clothes, and Jughead is inclined to believe him.

“Doesn't really change things,” he says, both an acknowledgment and dismissal.

Bret's eyes closes briefly, like he's in pain.

“Goodbye, Forsythe,” he says, nodding once before he turns around, going to his dresser.

It almost makes Jughead feel guilty, but then he remembers the sex tape and the quiz show, the coffin, and everything else, and the feeling passes.

Without giving Bret a second look, he leaves, feeling lighter for every step he puts between himself and his old dorm room.

Outside, Betty is waiting for him, a grin on her face like she's the cat that got the canary.

She hugs him in greeting, almost vibrating with excitement.

“You smell like sex,” she says, sounding pleased about it.

“Tell me everything about it.”


End file.
